


sex in the blue hours

by fab_ia



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, dumbasses who probably kinda sorta care about each other, kissing it better but also not really, surprise surprise! kepcobi.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_ia/pseuds/fab_ia
Summary: warren kepler spits out a curse at two-thirty-am-in-the-morning and it startles you out of your quiet self-reflection, brings you back to the present where he’s glaring at his stove like it’s dishonoured his family and your laptop’s been on its screensaver for somewhere approaching an hour now.“want me to kiss it better?” you ask.





	sex in the blue hours

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from richard scott's poem 'the presence of x' and more specifically:
> 
> "I believe in sex in the blue hours  
> you've spent fucking me  
> the bruises you left on my arms"

warren kepler spits out a curse at two-thirty-am-in-the-morning and it startles you out of your quiet self-reflection, brings you back to the present where he’s glaring at his stove like it’s dishonoured his family and your laptop’s been on its screensaver for somewhere approaching an hour now. you’ve been watching it as the colours idly snake their way around the screen, half-asleep but still in a dream. although, it begs the question as to this play-pretend domesticity is truly a dream or a nightmare.

kepler curses the stove again before he takes his finger into his mouth and sucks on it while you wake your computer and go back to the blueprints you were looking at before you got sucked into the sleepless haze. you’re tired- you’re tired to the bone again, jacobi, but that’s no excuse for not finishing your work.

“want me to kiss it better?” you ask. it’s halfway to being a joke, as well as about three miles into the realm of you being serious. that’s rare enough as it is, so kepler raises an eyebrow when he looks over at you and you curse yourself and your loose tongue. “never mind.”

he snorts.

it’s unattractive at best, most days, but it sends a shiver up your spine anyway. the simple fact you can entertain him makes you feel good, like you’re  _ worth _ something more than your job and in turn, makes you smile too.

“magic kisses?” kepler asks, slow and thick and warm as ever. “hold on a second. i’ll be right over.”

“fucking finally,” you groan. “i’ve needed a break for the last three hours, sir.”

mild amusement in his expression again, as he turns his face and the fluorescent (probably, you’ve yet to unscrew his lights to check) of his kitchen light makes his face seem softer, more trustworthy; but at the same time harder and colder. “you know it’s just ‘kepler’ when we’re alone, jacobi.”

right.  _ right.  _ you knew that, alright, but it’s hard to remember.

“of course,” you say, mouth twitching up at one corner, “i just thought you liked it when i called you sir,  _ sir _ .”

that earns more than a snort- the bark of a laugh and the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “you’re a strange man, jacobi.”

“i try my best.”

he takes up a space beside you on the couch without much drama or noise, silently pressing his arm against your side as you turn off the computer and slide it onto the shelf beneath his coffee table that you’ve reserved for your own things- computers, chargers, books and the pens you definitely didn’t steal from someone else’s desk. you’re perfectly innocent, the very picture of an angel.

“hi,” you say, and kepler leans in to kiss you.

kissing him is a sensation of being a little too close to a fire, when the heat from the flames burns your face and the smell of the smoke scorches your nose and your mouth and your throat, all the way down to your lungs, finger-painted black by the years you’ve been inhaling it. it’s familiar, it’s good; it’s like coming home after a mission and collapsing on your bed, staining your sheets with still-wet blood and half-dried dirt. he’s hot in all senses of the word- he’s fucking  _ gorgeous _ , all perfect angles and a stunning jawline, but he radiates body heat like he’s- like he’s-

fucking  _ hell _ , you don’t know, coming up with fancy metaphors and sophisticated language was never your strong point. he’s like a personal heater, which is nice in fall and winter and honestly a little shit in summer. right now, though, it’s october and he’s kissing you like you make up the air he breathes.

you can practically make a checklist of everything that’s going to happen tonight, just by how he’s kissing you- he’ll pin you to the bed until you break and beg; he’ll hold your wrists so tight that by tomorrow they’ll be black and blue; he’ll soothe you to sleep with a long-winded story about something that’s entirely pointless but he knows you’ll listen to anyway. he’s predictable, see, which is surprising and yet obvious.

  
  
  


after. breathless and red-cheeked in bed next to him, feeling the bruising on your neck and collarbone burning in the slight breeze from the window he left open. just  _ why  _ he did that is a little beyond you but it feels nice and you stretch out on his sheets with a contented hum

“enjoyed that, did you?” kepler asks, grinning as he trails his fingers over your stomach, where it’s a little softer than it has any right to be but he seems to like.

“do you think i did?”

chuckling, he kisses you again, lips against lips, soft and strong. “yes.”

“confident,” you say, before groaning a little as you feel your back crack when you arch it. “yeah, it was good.”

kepler smiles and kisses you once more, one more time, pulls you to him and kisses you like you truly are the lifeline for a drowning man even though you could easily be the reason he’s drowning in the first place. he doesn’t much like open water, really, he prefers a secluded lake, a pond, a swimming pool. he hates the ocean and that makes you think that you should hate it too. follow his example, jacobi,  _ daniel _ , do as he says and maybe this mission won’t end with injuries or threats with a gun.

“stop thinking.”

not a question and not a direction. a command. stop talking, make your brain  _ shut up _ and go the fuck to sleep.

“yes, sir.”

“kepler.”

 

“yes, kepler. goodnight.”

 

( _ i love you _ )

 

“goodnight, jacobi.”

 

( _ i love you too _ )

 


End file.
